Mizpah
by Calesvol
Summary: In life, they were the bulwarks of a common cause, fighting side by side like brothers despite underlying feelings. Much later, once the trump card of Hellsing had long since been tamed, this realization of truth dawns and causes anguish within the Nosferatu. Even if fortune might favor him for a last good-bye, they cannot remain together for eternity. Alucard/OC


Mizpah

(**Warnings**: Grief, death, sickness, Alucard/OC, one-shot.]

* * *

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are grey_

_You never know, dear, how much I love you_

_Please don't take my sunshine away_

December, 1436

Sighișoara, Romania

The snow was so very deep this year. The middle child of the Draculesti couldn't help but observe his footprints amid the snow that consumed his very legs to his thighs, but being such a young boy still it wasn't so difficult to fathom why. In the early morning the snow was flushed with the reflectant hues of violet and it spanned into the Carpathians that soared aloft. Vermilion touched peaks of gnarled and eroded points and set them aflame just as the sky so was. Voluminous clouds imparted violets and flaming hues that so resembled fire in all its searing and heated glory. Immiscable remnants of the night before were fleeing in wake of the sun's jovial coming. What had been stars was brightening with such hopeful illumination that Vlad himself felt hopeful for the day. For within young breast swelled the hope that perhaps he might finally see a true dragon descend from the heavens in a crescendo of gales and a maelstrom of such draconian greatness. A dragon that would burn their enemies and voraciously consume all the ills of his young world that hardly existed outside of Sighișoara, the place of his birth. Upon shifting restlessly from foot to foot, the audibility of snow being compacted rising, that adrenaline coursed through him hotly like dragon's flame and he was unable to keep himself from bolting off through droves of snow that churned in his wake and spoiled the pristinity of the snowfall the night before. Even within walls and buildings that arose in slight ascension of each other, he still adored such a view. But no matter how much he did, he couldn't keep his mother, Cneajna, waiting.

Navigating cobbled streets absolutely smothered snow proved simple as few people loitered after the snow of the alleys and thoroughfares, Vlad able to cross towards the home he'd made recently and that had been all he'd known these past five years. Since birth, until now, they'd remained here while moving between Târgoviște and Sighișoara depending on where Vlad II's affairs took him. He was a suspicious man, and didn't seem to want his family to be divided if he could help it. The rotations were frequent, but necessary. Little Vlad could be none the wiser. He was thoroughly chilled, to boot. Cheeks were flushed and limbs trembled, some hints of snow daubed within his hair and clothing that had been bequeathed by spurts of wind, dusted as though a baker had neglected their powders. So when he arrived to a roasting hearth flame, Vlad instantly became flushed as his mother received him warmly, laughing with bell-like merriment as she affectionately fussed over him. "Mama…" Vlad managed in half-hearted protest, pouting visibly. "Where's Radu?" Of course he would seek his slightly younger brother. Cneajna gazed upon her son contemplatively before laughing again, but is a quiet and subdued sound. "He's asleep, sweetling. Still too early for him, unlike you." Vlad merely huffed and groused about how Radu slept too much under his breath, receiving a kiss upon crown from his mother in reciprocation and she patted his back, the boy sighing resignedly as she resumed whatever stitch-work had been occupying her.

The fire was blazing and inviting, and though Vlad had intended to gravitate towards it to begin with, he couldn't help the but notice a toddling boy stationed alone before the flames. He was quiet, and judging from his appearance, couldn't be more than a year or two at most in age. And he seemed to be the only one present aside from his mother and he, though a guardian wasn't to be seen in sight. Though, by the sounds of activity within another room, he assumed that was the woman overseeing this new addition. Cautiously. Vlad emerged into his periphery, only to find that his quietness was attributable to the boy being tired and attempting not to doze off. Reticently, the older boy huddled as near to the flames as he could manage, which entailed a proximity that allowed only inches between them—perhaps a foot at most. The crackling flames filled the silence between them, though it wasn't long until Vlad began to feel uneasy from the silence. "…My name is Vlad. What's yours?" he broached tentatively, peripheral vision catching sight of the toddler making a disgruntled sound and blinking blearily at him, rubbing his eyes and they seemed to water from such an action. "Val-leh-ree-oo," the boy responded after long moments of seeming contemplation, though it was distorted by him yawning hugely and seeming cranky by his own tiredness and perhaps inability to sleep. Vlad smiled softly and touched a hand to Valeriu's shoulder, the instinct of an older brother; the Diaconescu leaning into his touch favorably. That same hand wound around Valeriu's shoulders and pulled him close to Vlad, no doubt earning the adoring crooning of his mother. "Do you mind if I call you Vali?" His voice was closed and a whisper, gauging the younger's reaction. Though Vali didn't respond, he seemed to nuzzle closely against Vlad and breathe once before it settled into the calming lull of a child asleep.

"…Ok, Vali."

* * *

December, 1945

Snagov Monastary, Romania

It was exactly as he remembered. And yet, to be here was so very painful and excruciating upon his soul. For this is where he'd been 'born'. But there was something more here. Something far more significant. Something that drew footsteps upon a lonely bridge where so few had trekked or traversed that his were the only set to disturb the otherwise silent, pristine advance across. The snowfall was just as quiet, in thick descent of flakes that made it impossible to see very far—the sunset itself impossible to see except through a lone orb hung within the sky that was occasionally availed through dense cloud cover. The wind was bitter and driving, but it wasn't harsh or like a gale. But merest gusts even barely above a breeze would incite the worst of chills in those who were unlike himself, and it carried upon it a voice of those long-dead that made his heart ache even more than conceivable. Having forgone the duster, suit coat, fedora, and sunglasses, his raven tresses whipped fiercely in the wind as he stood like a forlorn shadow. Yet, one could only perhaps wonder why Alucard, the monster in bondage and subservience to the Hellsing Organization, had deliberately disobeyed his Master and had forsaken them for the dreary solitude of Romania just months after the second World War and the efforts of recovery. Perhaps it was because he feared for what remained within Snagov. That the War had not been kind and this place he'd claimed as part of his territory and loved for all the memories that made him so wretched was his. One of the few places he knew as his own upon this Earth that neither recognized nor saw it as such. But it was him who been interred with him here that had brought him back to this old and forlorn memory. But it was an aching and heartbroken heart that had brought him here that had been the result of of the day during his sleep that a memory, a person he hadn't thought of in considerable lengths of time, that had triggered an enormous cascade and monumental retort of memories. Things that made his heart ache and twist cruelly to consider and know.

He'd thought of Valeriu Diaconescu, the boy he'd met as a child and had dubbed as friend and whom had later become his beloved Armasi. But it hadn't been until this day, this vampiric night, that he'd truly considered the ramifications of what he knew to be true. Vali was gone. He'd died not four years after he and Alucard had just only realized, that within his heart of hearts, just how much he'd loved the man. But it was as though a stake had been driven through his heart and it was more painful still. Because these sentiments had been nurtured when he'd still been human, but he hadn't recognized them. Hadn't known that the love he felt was real and of the same vein he'd felt towards Elizabeta. But that had been when he'd been the Impaler who saw relations between men as an abomination before God. Because of his brother and Mehmed; because of what Murad had incurred heartlessly upon them both. Rape, torture, deprecation of themselves by his hand and countless others. By God, he loved Vali. More than he could bear. And that realization had only been struck when, upon his throne bearing the Evil Eye, that he'd awoken with the Tears of Judas streaming down his cheeks and with such a great black clout of pain within his breast that he couldn't even breathe. His throat had felt asphyxiated upon awakening, clenches so tightly with a grief so sublime and so intense that he could barely see let alone breathe, with his vision swelled red and nearly shut by it. Alucard had remembered collapsing upon the ground and clutching the tails of his duster for something to hold and clutch while his shoulders shook and chest heaved.

Even now as he walked and squalls of white and cold buffeted him at regular intervals, his visage was shrouded and the cloak clung high about him was raised to further obscure. And crude wood soon gave onto turf buried in snow that came to one's knees, his boots barely shown. But his gaze rose and crossed to meet two edifices almost blurring into the sullen, grey skies. One was larger, with a clearly squared volume to it, while three spires rose aloft and stood in contrast, narrow windows recessed within several inlaid frames that allowed their interiors to blaze with sunlight and provide a skylight in the appropriate conditions. Snagov Monastary, but at most hollow shadow of what it had once in its time. And though he lamented its fall, his heart was twisted more by anxiety as to what he hoped would remain here. Something so much more infinitely precious that had been buried alongside him posthumously as per his request before his untimely yet predicted demise. There was a ragged, aging groan as the great oak doors barring the frost and cold from entrance were opened at his behest, a colorless chapel within that mirrored structure and shape of the exterior awaited him. Faded ikons that occupied every conceivable surface seemed forlorn and phantasmal, the inside no warmer than the out. There was a strange detachment upon seeing his own tomb, haphazardly concealed once more after he'd emerged from it centuries before. But what truly pulled at his heart, what had been his reason for coming, was just to the left of the tattered carpet that lined the way to his tomb. A raised and smooth embankment of marble encompassing the stone slat upon the tomb of the one he'd come for.

"Vali…" came tremulous sigh as Alucard sank to his knees and collapsed utterly to the flank of the tomb, a hand reaching to touch coarse stone stiff with unyielding and rebuffing chill. There was a strange and delirious affection that took Alucard as he unfettered the cloak from him in a flourish and rest it upon this slat, as though it were Vali himself and not some mad fantasy of him. He was like this when faced with Elizabeta, or Hamza. Individuals he'd loved too much and still did. On his side did Alucard suddenly take with an arm reaching to pull some phantom close, cheek to stony cold and eyes glazed and glossed like thick amber stones that subdued the hell fire. They closed and for a long moment did he pretend; pretend that there was someone in his arms and that there wasn't bone and dust and remains beneath. "I'm going to free you from this place, Vali. I'm going to take you home with me." The murmur was sad and laden, clearly betraying the distress felt. Slowly did he rise, staring blankly into oblivion until he was behooved by his original intent, removing the cloak and then beginning to claw visicously at the stone frame keeping the stone slat in place. But it was also delicate, mindful that its construct was exactly akin to his own just meters ahead. Though a man would be unable to lift it on their own without applying brute and destructive force, easily was Alucard able to despite being abhorrantly weak in daylight and in the direct presence of God. He didn't want to look in, didn't want to see his Beloved as anything but the memory so desperately cherished within his mind. As the man he'd met as barely a boy and whom had fought by his side throughout his life, unable to even say good-bye.

The skeleton within was meticulously and remarkably preserved, with adornments and baubles still intact—even the funeral shroud in remarkable condition. So, even if God had overlooked him, He still smiled so on Vali. For the next long moments did Alucard carefully remove every bone, every jewel and article down to the scraps of thread and displaced jewels. All placed within a messenger bag and wrapped separately as though he were an archaeologist. But, there was one item in particular that he didn't contain. Vali's signet ring from the Order of the Dragon shortly after Vlad had inducted his most beloved Armasi himself. Reverently and deliberately did Alucard clean it of dust and accumulated grime, kissing the relief of the Dragon upon it before he slid it upon his right ring finger; his left still adorned with his own signet ring. When everything had been collected, Alucard replaced the stone slat over the grave and with magick did he restore the marble frame encompassing it. With one, last forlorn and lingering gaze cast upon the remains of Snagov, he turned away and pulled the cloak once more on his shoulders before disappearing in the frost and snow and with the door shut tightly behind as he disappeared the way he came to return home.

Returning home with his Beloved.

* * *

August, 1481

Castle Dracula, Argeș River Valley, Wallachia

**_DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES!_**

**_OPEN YOUR EYES!_**

**_ALUCARD!_**

**_THIS IS AN ORDER!_**

**_ALUCARD!_**

"Farewell…Integra."

There was a sharp disturbance amid the heat, even within the caverns of the castle where he'd made home in lieu of his return four years ago, after his disappearance from the modern world. From a modern time where he'd died and his eyes had closed forever in that and opened anew within another. Alucard's hues of hellish light glowed against the narrow orifice he'd made home, his secret hideaway in lieu of those who would react violently to the Voivode's return to Wallachia. But he was Voivode no longer. For Vlad was dead and another ruled in his place. But what a four years they'd been. It was almost as though God had wished to bestow upon him one last mercy in deciding that Schrodinger's turmoil upon his being would deliver him to a time and place his heart had so desperately wished to return to. And the first face he'd found, a face he'd yearned so achingly for, had been delivered to him the very moment he'd appeared like a phantom. Vali's name, the nickname Vlad had given him when his beloved Armasi had been only a toddler and Vlad barely a weanling, had been the first word uttered. That was all it had taken for recognition to be achieved. But it had taken months upon months—the man who appeared older than the immortal—had become acclimated to him. But that strange twist of fate had led to an eventual friendship forged over months of wariness and disbelief and pacifications of Alucard's return being the Devil's unholy work. Yet, in all the time it had taken, Alucard had been happier than he'd been in centuries. His heart had been stripped of protection and was raw and bleeding and encircled by thorns, vulnerable for damage and to be ripped from his chest. But Vali hadn't done that. In fact, he'd done the opposite. A tentative friendship had revealed similar passions between them both, and Alucard selfishly lived each day by this spontaneous reciprocation of love and with profound greed and need and want did he live by his lover's side in a time that did not belong to him. A time that would not last and could easily be wrenched away from him. But Alucard didn't care. He loved Vali and Vali loved him and he would sooner destroy his black heart than forsake it for anything.

Each night for the past four years he'd rested against the chest and heart of his Beloved in warmth and sanctuary. For the past four years he'd held him and they'd made love to each other on countless and tired nights for the past few years when that final line had been crossed. When their love was confessed and regard strewn from them. Those nights had been blissful, and the heart that had discovered this love and had pined for it for almost a hundred years was sinfully satiated. Perhaps it was for Vali, as well, whom had struggled with his own sentiments throughout the time he'd known his prince. Vali's prince, and his alone, Alucard thought with the smallest of smiles to himself in the darkness he was only stirring from. Yet, his reverie was stirred and Alucard perceived the unwelcome and anxious staccato of footfalls of returning soldiers, his blissful features becooming deadpanned and hardened. Something was wrong. Something was terribly and utterly wrong. Something Alucard knew would come: the day he'd forestalled from his mind and had so vehemently denied. But he couldn't deny it any longer. Slowly, he arose within the tunnel that sloped sharply into a secret entrance into Castle Dracula, now Castle Arges as it'd always been posthumously. But he couldn't see him. It was still day and he couldn't make himself known no matter how much he wished to. No matter how much his heart clenched and ached to take action. He couldn't stop this. Alucard couldn't interfere with history no matter how much he wanted to.

Gritting his teeth and gouging deep rakes within the stone with his talons, Alucard resigned himself back into the recessed alcove he'd carved out for himself years ago. He forced eyes to close and willed himself to sleep as he had during the day seeming eons ago when it hadn't become so disturbed. He waited. He never slept, but he did dream and wait. And when silence reigned, when quietude was paramount and nary a whisper could be perceived to senses extremely attuned to even the chatter of mice, Alucard arose. He moved like shadows for he was part of the darkness and was it, and through passages dark and damp where breathing was amplified to unbearable magnitudes, footfalls like heartbeats and heartbeats like a daze that consumed him. Through a passage into the lowest levels of the dungeons did Alucard finally emerge, cloaked and donning secrecy and silence. There was currently no men within the castle; at least, none whom would run into him. But through the dungeons were they interconnected to the four towers at the farthest ends of the castle, Vali's station within the north tower also home to the apothecary and doctors. There was a sharp and steep helix that carried passerby through the multiple levels, Alucard knowing exactly which level Vali would be on—for this castle had been of his reconstruct and no one knew it better than the Voivode whom had orchestrated its revival. Upon this flight of stairs did he ascend from basement below to where he knew he would find Vali.

Upon the threshold within the corridor illuminated by an ensconced torch, Alucard removed his cloak and draped it upon a chair without cause or concern, brows furrowing and eyes opened in alarm while his jaw set as he came upon the prone form of his Armasi breathing raggedly. The younger man stirred and instantly Alucard genuflected next to the primitive, lowly-hung cot and a hand rose to caress brow heavily matted with sweat and hair damp and slick with it, stroking those tangled locks away. No doubt the result from tossing and turning. Alucard then rose and sat himself next to Vali's right flank, disturbing the man from his sleep. Vali's lips weakly parted and he laboreded to vociferate a greeting, eyes heavily glazed in exhaustion and weakness as lids blearily strugled to remain open. Chest tightening, Alucard leaned over to tenderly and gently bestow a kiss to Vali's lips, feeling the younger's body grow warm from the motion. Forehead to brow, Alucard murmured, "I'm here, Cavalerul meu; Dragostea mea," upon them parting. Vali's ragged wheezing seem to quiet some, and a shadow of a smile quirked upon his features as his visage moved with drained impetus to kiss Alucard's cheek. "Prințul meu," Vali whispered, an arm raising to drape across Alucard's lap and hand grasped, with enfeebled effort, the vampire's waist. The man felt comforted by the vampire's raven cascades spilling about him like a curtain, the scent of iron and blood and the metallic tang after a rain never having been more of a comfort than it had in this moment. Alucard didn't want to voice what would become of the morning. It was too painful and Alucard heart clenched so painfully it felt as though it were being slowly wrenched from his chest. "Is it time?" That jolted Alucard, and without hesitance did he encircle his arms around Vali's neck as gently as he could manage, back hunching sharply and curling inwards as he cradled the man as closely he could.

Alucard's shoulders shook as he suppressed dry sobs, wanting now more than ever to sink his fangs into Vali's neck and drain him of blood to make him a familiar, or then feed him his own and turn him to one of the Dracul. But he couldn't. Alucard wouldn't subject Vali to an eternity of such hells, even if both would entail remaining at his side. Vali's place was at the right hand of God. Not within the Abyss nor under the black and eternal night. "Vali, close your eyes." It was a simple order, something that Vali could do more than anything. Alucard remained close, but even Vali could perceive the shift taking place. Straight follicles became wavy and thick, skin pale and alabaster became riddled with human flaws and darker; but eyes and maw remained the same. Foreheads still pressed together, Alucard parted the distance some so that Vali could see him. That's when tears began to build and water within Vali's eyes; that he could truly see his prince again after so long overwhelmed him in these last moments. Vlad's features were pained and contorted by strife, blood pooling within his eyes that would no doubt be shed within moments. "Alucard…Vlad…why?" Vali questioned after what seemed an eternity, hues usually crimson disguised as their previous emerald that rest upon his and bore into his of sickly azure. Vlad knew it wasn't long now. The infection from the wound inflicted had taken too much of a toll on the battlefield. It wasn't long now. They didn't have much longer. Vlad's features became severe and fangs receded into gums, now truly the illusion of the prince he'd once been. Raven strands became peppered with gray, as did the stubble on his jawline. Exactly as he'd been before the bastard Laiotă had orchestrated his ultimate betrayal. Before he'd been decapitated and his head paraded upon a pale to be beholden before all of Istanbul.

The beds in-between were quartered extremely close together in lieu of the minimal space, but it would serve Vlad's efforts well. He smiled and gazed upon Vali with all the affections of a Prince for his Armasi could muster, and it was proud and benevolent. "We are going to die together, Vali. And we are going to be buried together within Snagov Monastary exactly as it was meant to be," Vlad declared, mindless of whomever would hear. There was shock upon Vali's countenance, and as Vlad leaned over Vali's prone form to deliver a last and final kiss to his forehead, the younger of them both truly crying now. And with illusory effort did tears of blood become salted water that stung far more than tears of blood that were even more monumental. Vali's hands grasped and clung violently to Vlad's person and the prince allowed it so willingly. He wanted this. Wanted it more than anything. "Te iubesc, Prințul meu. Thank you…" There was a violent cough, "…for all of this. For what we had between us for all this time." Vlad's own eyes became bleary as he touched foreheads with Vali's again, nodding numbly. "Dragostea mea, voi iubi mereu. For all of eternity." His voice was shaken and tremulous with emotion, and one last feeble kiss was shared between them before Vlad withdrew, he knowing there was only minutes left. Carefully, he manuevered himself to the bed parallel to Vali's, settling himself deeply upon it and reaching for Vali's hand which was taken and held in a mutual vice—or with as much strength as Vali could muster. Vlad kept perception close, and his senses dulled except on the waning pulse of his Knight that consumed his very mind as their states matched, Alucard able to induce an unconsciousness like death. He would die with Vali and be buried with him for thirty years as testament to the powerful and indomitable love between them. He could feel it. Vali's eyes had closed and his breathing eased, but it was becoming fainter and fainter. Vlad's thumb rubbed Vali's soothingly. Death was beautiful. Death would deliver him into God's hands where he would never see the face of God. But they would pass together. Vali wouldn't die alone, and he wouldn't die without his prince.

The sun was rising. Through narrow slits did it carve beatific splendor throughout the room, the attention of the guards having been roused at the haunting familiarity of the voice from before, the staccato of their approach only dulling as his own consciousness waned away. Vlad's eyes became blurred, and there was a final smile painted his lips, hold upon Vali's hand tightening.

What a beautiful dawn it was.

* * *

August, 2030

Whitby Abbey, Whitby, Great Britain

Opulent flare bled through clouds as slow descent elicited a fiery brilliance that only summer could know of. And upon the steep descent that crowned the town of Whitby, Great Britain, shadows were lengthened exaggeratedly and the turf blazed an burnt hue as though each strand of grass was set flame and those who tread upon it walked amid multitudes of candles. The seas tossed and churned, sunlight carving a single, distorted path on the waters as though they lit an undulating path into heaven itself. Aloft from the village, nested upon a high precipice and exactly adjescent to the mellow river Esk, Whitby Abbey stood in proud ruination amid the complexes below. There was the lowing of cattle grazing nearby that contended with the roar of the sea upon the shore and that surged through harbor piers. It was a beautiful summer's day, the temperature having cooled significantly since the blistering heat of midday but hours before. If one listened closely, they could hear the playful and exhuberant shrieks of children playing amid the waves and on the sand with parents and guardians—families happy. But if they looked carefully, they could see a man clad in mourning black who wasn't a man at all. His hair was bound in a low-slung ponytail, and he was traversing amid the parallel porticos that harbored betwixt them a plot of graves nestled beneath the protective foliage of several saplings intersparsed between. Together, perhaps something like twelve headstones could be counted, clustered and scattered, but not very far from each other. Sunglasses concealed crimson hues, they not orange but tinctured black. And he'd bought this plot of land almost a hundred years ago after the second World War. The monster's name was Alucard, and he came bearing not a bouquet, but a large plastic bag that could be construed as small stones from a distance. Flower bulbs that would be planted at each grave were contained within this bag.

For here rested the graves of those beloved to him. The graves of all three Mirceas: his brother and two miscarried sons by Elizabeta. The only son of theirs that had lived to manhood was interred here as well: Mihnea the Bad. Alucard's brother, Radu, mother Cneajna, and even his father, Vlad II Dracul. Herein also lay Elizabeta, her remains having been some of the hardest to retrieve. There were also the graves of Hamza, Amani, and Ion—Wilk, his very first Armasi. His sons by Ilona, Vlad IV, and Mircea the Younger as well. But there was a grave facing the direction of the dawn stood among them as those he was paying homage to. For therein lay the grave of Valeriu Diaconescu, situated amid honeysuckle blossoms that sweetened the very air around it. Sunlight poured richly through the remains of what had once been stained glass windows, coloring gray with the warmth of orange. Alucard made a beeline for that grave first, for today was a day of great significance. Today was the date of Vali's death, and he wanted to pay homage to it most of all. The footfalls that carried the Nosferatu towards were stifled amid tender shoots of grasses, soon coming upon the grave as his lower lip quivered minutely only once and he sank to his knees. "It's been awhile, hasn't it, Vali?" he greeted hoarsely, smiling tightly. The sunglasses were removed and he shifted his legs to sit, one raised with an elbow to prop upon it that held his sunglasses loosely, the other curled inwards. The other hand propped his back, the bag set before the grave, the clinking of some other items sounding as well. Upon his right hand did he remove the glove, smiling faintly as he studied Vali's Order of the Dragon ring, gaze fond upon it. The signet caught some sunlight, and he couldn't help but chortle.

There came a curious thought as he noted how he'd made it so that Vali's grave faced east towards the sunrise, while the sun was setting now. With a comforted sigh did he lean against the headstone that was squared yet rounded, as though he leaned against a shoulder. His right arm circled the base until the band of Vali's ring touched stone on the other side where Alucard held the grave itself as though it were someone's waist. His head turned inwards, tilting to the side as he drew himself closer and more intimiately to it. "It's been a long time since you've seen the sunset, hasn't it, Dragostea mea?" There was a tight smile, loosened tresses to fall over his features with the way his profile was angled inwards. "Five hundred and forty-nine years since you last saw one. This one—it's special. There's vermilion that touches the undersides of the clouds, and above they are violet like hyacinth. The sky—you can see the night approaching. There's a contrast between blue and the further back you look you can see it. It's Prussian blue, like sapphire. You can probably see it, can't you? There will be stars soon, since the air here is clear and not like that of London. And then…the dawn shall come." Unconsciously, lips touched to stone. Long, and slow. There was a small smile as they retreated again to the horizon set abalze, he sighing as Alucard's digits shifted to strengthen his grip.

Alucard would remain until the dawn. Like he had all those centuries ago that were but decades within this timeline. Vali wouldn't be alone this night, this he would see to. Nothing could remove him from this place now. Nothing would seperate him from his beloved Knight. Cavalerul meu.

"I'm not going to leave you, Dragostea mea. I'm going to remain here until the dawn," he swore, obscuring raven tresses unable to conceal the blood sluicing in rivulets down his face that beaded upon his chin and dripped upon his suit.

"And when the dawn comes, you should describe it to me. For I want us to bear witness to it together."

_The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping_

_Dreamt I held you in my arms_

_When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken_

_So I hung my head and cried_

* * *

**Last Thoughts**: This was written back in January for a friend and roleplay partner of mine in dedication for our ship between our muses on, you guessed it, my rp blog for Alucard, _**calisvol**_ on tumblr. Basically, the premise is that as Vlad, Vali had unrequited feelings for Vlad that were never reciprocated because Vlad was extremely homophobic and genophobic to a degree. They had a relationship as General and Prince and Vali knew this. So, what would happen if Alucard realized his emotions, and eventually had it happen where he'd wrestle through the grief? That after he disappeared at Schrodinger's behest, the first place he'd wind up is Wallachia just years before Vali died. Overall, a highly emotional, angsty piece resulted from that plotline we had going and birthed this.

**Credits**:

Valeriu Diaconescu **© voivodes **tumblr

~Peace, G.


End file.
